


Six Years Better

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Misunderstandings, Pining, Smut, Valentine's Day, angsty love confessions, pining and fluff and smut, valentine's day misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29426898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy misunderstands Valentine's Day.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 142





	Six Years Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheatreSteph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatreSteph/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Steph! Hope this fic is everything you hoped for - from your wishlist I chose post S5 setting, explicit rating, angsty love declaration, possessive Bellamy, and exes to lovers-type vibes (even though they're not literally exes!).
> 
> Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this. Happy reading!

Bellamy thinks that celebrating Valentine's Day is a great idea. They've had precious little to celebrate, since settling in Shallow Valley. They made an attempt, back when the peace deal was first signed, to celebrate that. But since then it's been a story of petty squabbles turned nasty, of attempted coups, and of Clarke looking increasingly frazzled, he thinks.

Not that it's any business of his that Clarke looks frazzled, of course. She's barely spoken five words to him since they settled here.

So he's pleased that Monty has suggested a celebration. He agrees that a party seems a sweet tribute to Jasper, apart from anything else. There's just one problem – Bellamy has no idea what Valentine's Day is.

"So – this _Valentine's Day_ – what kind of festival is it?" He asks. He thought he knew all the old Earth festivals. He's heard of Christmas and Hanukkah for starters. He likes history, and he's a little ashamed to find himself lacking on this front.

"It's a festival of love. People give gifts to whoever they love."

This sounds perfect, Bellamy decides. A celebration of all that ties them together and makes them human. Better than the dubious peace of Unity Day, he thinks wryly.

"That sounds perfect. So we give these gifts and then have a party in the evening?"

"Yeah. A dance with some drinks." Monty suggests.

"Sounds great. I'm with you. What do I need to do?"

Monty just grins a little. "I've got this. I'll fix the party and run it past Clarke and Octavia and Diyoza. You just need to decide whether you want to give anyone a gift."

…...

Bellamy decides on _many_ gifts, as it happens. He's a big-hearted kind of guy – someone he's trying not to think about too much once told him that. So he gets gifts for everyone who's important to him. Monty did say it was about giving gifts to the people he loves.

He starts with Echo and Raven. He wants to affirm that they really are his family, that he's happy they got together a couple of months after Bellamy broke up with Echo. He's still convinced that was the right move for everyone, even if a great deal of awkward silence is all that lies between him and Clarke. It just felt wrong to pretend to sustain a relationship with anyone else while she still lives. So he trades to get Echo and Raven some homewares for the small cottage they now share – pots and pans and tablecloths and the like. He's fairly sure neither of those women is the kind to buy tablecloths for themselves, but he thinks it will give the place a nice feeling of _home_.

Monty and Harper are easy. They're always pleased by any present. He gets a little potted plant for their neat garden that Gaia tells him has healing powers. Harper will think it's pretty and Monty will have a great time experimenting to find out the truth of Gaia's words. Murphy and Emori are pretty straightforward, too. They like good food, so he simply plans to give them some dried fruits and venison.

Octavia is more of a challenge. He loves his sister, but their relationship is still strained to say the least. She says she has forgiven him for standing against her and supporting the call for surrender and peace. But he knows that she is still smarting from finding even her big brother turning against her. He decides that nostalgia and a reminder of their formerly close relationship is the way to go, so he gets her a book of Greek myths that Niylah found in the bunker.

At last, there is only Clarke left to agonise over. He could swear he's spent his entire adult life fretting about this woman, sometimes.

He simply doesn't know what to do. Should he get her something? He does love her. He has to be honest with himself about that, even if he has yet to find the words to tell her. But is it weird to get a Valentine's gift for her when she is still plainly upset with him for giving Madi the flame? When they do not speak outside of council meetings and the occasional awkward passing nod?

He has to get her a gift. Monty said this festival was about celebrating love. This might be the one day of the year he's allowed to give Clarke a kind gesture without causing awkward questions.

And there's a little voice in the back of his mind telling him it might go _well_. If he gets her the perfect gift, she might see how truly sorry he is, how thoughtful he can be. They might both get a chance to learn what should have come next after _I've got you for that_.

He gets her some art supplies, in the end. It's not imaginative, perhaps, but he thinks she'll really appreciate it. They'll be useful, and she's all about the practicalities. And besides which, he hopes it's a gift that shows he sees her as a person with her own interests and a right to a life of her own, rather than just an almost inhuman leader.

…...

Bellamy is feeling confident, when he wakes up on the morning of Valentine's Day. He left all the gifts on his friends' doorsteps last night. He thinks that might be a tradition borrowed more from Christmas, but he's decided to stick with it all the same. He thinks it will be nice for them to wake up to their gifts right away and hopefully start the day with smiles on their faces.

He stops feeling confident, very abruptly, when Murphy hammers on his door.

"You awake?" Murphy calls loudly.

Bellamy sighs. "I am now." It's a lie. He's actually been up and dressed and reading for an hour or so.

Murphy lets himself in, smirking gleefully. "You know, if you wanted to hook up with me and Emori sometime you should have just said so."

Bellamy frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You got us a Valentine's gift, Bellamy. Wrote _happy Valentine's Day_ on it and everything. Ringing any bells?"

He nods. He did get them a Valentine's gift. They're his family, and he loves them – although right now Murphy is being something of a pain in the ass.

"Do you really not see it?" Murphy presses.

Bellamy shakes his head, hands spread wide, exasperated.

"Valentine's Day gifts are for people you have a crush on, Bellamy. It's like – romantic. Sexual. That kind of love."

Oh God. _Oh God_. What has he done? Has he just made the biggest mess of his rather messy life?

"Monty didn't say." He bites out.

"Or you misunderstood." Murphy offers. "Trust you to think _love_ meant some kind of hippy-dippy shit. We all know you love _everyone_. I bet you gave gifts to, what, all of us from the Ring and your sister, too?"

"And Clarke." Bellamy mutters, cheeks heating.

There's a beat of silence. And then Murphy breaks it with one loud, crisp, bark of laughter.

"Good job, Bellamy. At least that one makes sense. Maybe she'll finally get the picture now. Maybe she'll -"

But Bellamy isn't listening any longer. He's already on his feet, charging out the door of his house. He has to get that gift off Clarke's doorstep before she wakes up and finds it. What if she's already beaten him to it? What if she thinks that after one major betrayal and several months of awkwardness, he's left some art supplies on her doorstep because he wants to screw her?

He does want to screw her, as it happens. But that's not the point right now. The point is that he's just made an excruciatingly awkward situation even worse.

He's too late. Just a moment too late. He rounds the corner to see Clarke clutching his note and peering into the box of paints, a look of deep confusion her face.

Damn it. She doesn't look happy. She doesn't look _wooed_. She just looks incredibly puzzled.

Flustered and unsure, he tries to fix the damage.

"Hey. Sorry about all that." He gestures to the box.

"Why are you _sorry_?" She asks, and now she looks even more confused.

"I misunderstood what Monty was telling me. I thought today was about giving gifts to all our friends and family. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable or anything. Just thought it was a way to show you I'm sorry and say I still want us to be friends." He grinds to a halt, feeling woefully inadequate.

She looks less puzzled now. But she doesn't look any happier, he feels. Her face has just resolved itself into calm, weary lines.

She used to look brighter, he thinks. Even when the world was ending there was more energy about her than he sees today.

"Thanks Bellamy. It's a lovely gift." She says, tone a little too level to be truly natural, he fears.

"You're welcome." He offers stiffly.

"And – I have forgiven you." She gets the words out carefully. "I just don't know how to make things right between us."

"Maybe we start here." He suggests, relieved. She's saying that like she wants things to be right between them almost as much as he does. "We start with this conversation and try to do better."

"Yeah. I'd like that." She nods firmly. "And I wish we could spend time together more often. We live six doors apart but I feel like we never see each other any more."

"I'd love to spend more time together." He says, in a raw moment of honesty he fears he might be embarrassed about later. "You coming to the party later? Maybe we can hang out there."

"Sounds great." She agrees, offering him a tentative smile.

He takes it and runs with it, returns it with a bright grin of his own. They're going to be OK, he decides, there and then. He might have totally misunderstood Valentine's Day, but at least Clarke likes his gift and wishes their friendship was in better shape, too. And yeah, sure, perhaps her frowning down at his gift before he explained himself was not a good sign. Perhaps that implies that she has no interest in any romantic gesture from him, that she wishes to keep their relationship firmly platonic.

He'll take that. He'll pack his exasperating attraction to her away in a little box, if that's what it takes.

He'll take that, if it's the only way he gets to have her in his life at all.

…...

By the time the party is in full swing, Bellamy is realising his mistake. A mistake even bigger than the ill-judged gifts.

There's no way he can pretend that having Clarke as his good platonic friend is enough for him. No way _at all_. He's been watching her dance with Gaia for less than ten minutes and he's about ready to punch a tree – that seems a better idea than punching Gaia's smiling face.

He tries to ignore it. He sulks in a corner, nurses his drink. He should -

"You should stop frowning and go ask her to dance." A voice pipes up by his side.

He turns, frowning even harder. That's Madi. "What are you doing here?"

"Telling you to stop hurting her." Madi says robustly.

"I'm not hurting her. I'm drinking my drink and minding my own business." He snaps. He wants to like this child – wants to love her and step in as her stepfather, even. But he still struggles with the way she seems to personify the distance between him and Clarke, these days.

"You are. I can't tell whether you mean it or whether you're just as scared as she is." Madi muses quietly. "What was that gift about, Bellamy? Really? You give her the perfect romantic gift and then you come running down the street to say it means nothing and can you just be friends?"

"It wasn't like that." He defends himself on instinct. "She was confused. I was just explaining that there had been a misunderstanding."

"She wasn't _confused_. She was shocked, but she thought she knew what it meant. You should have heard her when she found it. I was still in the kitchen and she just suddenly yelled to me that it seemed like you'd left her a Valentine's gift and she sounded so _happy_ , Bellamy. I haven't heard her sound like that since the day you should have come home."

He swallows, tries to ignore the tears that are pricking at his eyes. He was late. He's never going to forgive himself for that. But he cannot allow that to convince him that Madi's words are true. He knows Clarke better than that, thank you very much. He knows she looked annoyed and confused this morning.

Only – what if he _doesn't_? What if he doesn't know her so well after all, these days? What if Madi is right, and he is wrong? What if he's completely forgotten how to communicate with her in the years apart?

That would explain why things keep going wrong between them, he admits to himself.

As if she can read his silence, Madi presses her advantage.

"Do you have any idea how much she cares about you? She called you every day on the radio while you were in space."

He gulps. That can't be true. It simply can't. She'd have told him, wouldn't she? That's _big_. It has to mean something.

But what if that's exactly why she didn't tell him? Oh god. He came home with a girlfriend and a new family. If she'd been calling him every day he was gone she'd feel uncomfortable revealing that under the circumstances, wouldn't she? He may not know Clarke as well as he used to, but he knows her at least well enough to figure out that. She wouldn't want him to feel awkward or obligated.

Such a silly, selfless woman. When will she understand that she is the only thing in his life that feels more like a choice than a duty? That's always been what makes her so special to him.

"Every day?" He asks quietly. Just to check. He simply has to know.

"Every single day. She got sick one time and still made me bring her the radio. She said if you could hear her she wouldn't want you to worry about her."

He swallows. It hurts, the pressure of tears building in his throat.

Meanwhile, on the dance floor, Gaia spins Clarke around. And all at once, he can't take it any more. He cannot bear to waste another second, when they have wasted more than six and a half years. He cannot bear to watch her laugh with someone else, when she should be remembering how to laugh with _him_.

"Thanks, Madi." He says simply.

Then he leaves the child there, and sets off striding into the crowd.

It's harder than it should be. People are shifting around him, the tide pressing in and making him ever more impatient as he tries to reach Clarke. Murphy stops him with a slap on the shoulder and tries to push a new drink into his hand. Harper wants to ask if Octavia liked her gift.

At last he's there. He's tapping Clarke on the arm, realising he really should have spent the journey over here planning some words.

"Dance with me?" He asks, simple but heartfelt.

"I'm dancing with Gaia." She says, curt.

"Maybe the next song?" He presses.

"We can catch up later." She suggests. "I haven't forgotten we said we'd chat. I'll come find you when -"

"I don't want to talk. I'm asking you to dance." He bites out, and even to his own ears his voice sounds over half way to a _growl_. "It's Valentine's Day. Please dance with me?"

There's a beat of silence. Or at least, there is silence between him and Clarke. Around them, music blares. He can vaguely hear Monty whooping over the sound system. Gaia seems to be speaking, too, but his focus has narrowed to Clarke.

Then she speaks, and he almost wishes she had stayed wordless.

"You can't have it both ways, Bellamy. You can't tell me that this morning was _just a gift between friends_ , but now act like an ass because I'm dancing with someone. Or like a _child –_ like you're expecting me to be yours to hang out with all evening. I get it. We both have new lives now. New friends and families. But that means I get to have new friends, too."

He swallows. He wasn't expecting this. He can see now that Madi is right – he's hurt her. But because she's Clarke, she's come out fighting rather than curling up and admitting defeat. He's proud of her, but he's also totally exasperated. He just wants them to realise they're on the same page, damn it.

"You're right. I get -"

"It's not _fair_." She bites out, angry, but in that cutting, controlled way she does so well. It's frightening, honestly. He's never been on this side of her wrath before now. He's used to standing at her side and watching proudly while she puts someone else in their place.

He doesn't like it. He wants to be back at her side as usual, thank you very much. That's where he belongs.

"It's not fair." She repeats firmly. "You didn't even bother _telling me_ that you were with Echo until that morning in the dessert. You didn't even have the basic respect for our friendship to respect my wishes for Madi. But now I'm supposed to drop everything just because you want to dance with me? _It's not fair_." She impresses upon him, still calm, still cutting, but with her eyes starting to water just a little, he notes. "I know we never talked about it before Praimfaya. But it's not fair when you know full well that I'm in love with you."

He gasps. He reaches for her, on instinct, hands landing uselessly on her upper arms. No – not totally useless. At least he can feel that she's real and solid and alive, that he didn't imagine this whole messy, miraculous moment.

"I didn't know." He protests, voice thick with tears. "I swear I had no idea. I couldn't see it. I just started to hope just now. Madi told me this story about some radio calls."

She snorts damply, tears spilling over, but still standing firm with her chin raised in challenge.

"I really did misunderstand about the gifts." He mutters. "But if I'd known – if I'd realised this was a day for romantic love and for celebrating your soulmate – I'd have wanted to give you a gift anyway. That's why I'm asking you to dance now. That's why I'm standing here crying and making such a mess of this." He admits, laughing damply at himself. "I love you. That's what I'm trying to say, Clarke. I'm in love with you, too."

She shakes her head, speechless. He grins. He's never seen her lost for words before now. Gaia appears to have melted into the crowd, he notes. It seems like there's no harm done there.

"Dance with me?" He repeats the question, tearful and hopeful, all at once.

"I've got a better idea. Let's get out of here." She suggests instead.

He nods. He likes the sound of that. But before they move, there's just one thing he needs to do – more important than any first kiss or love confession or anything of the kind.

He moves his hands from her arms to wrap around her in a heartfelt hug. He holds her tight, close, relishing the feel of her in his arms once more. This is where she belongs. He's not hugged her since Polis, and it feels long overdue.

She gets the message. She hugs him back hard, squeezing her arms around his waist.

"We're OK." She murmurs, somewhere near his collarbone. "We can put this right."

"We're still breathing, aren't we?" He whispers back to her, allowing himself to joke just a little.

She's grinning as she pulls back from the hug. She's simply beaming as she takes his hand and starts leading him from the dancefloor.

"Happiness looks good on you." He throws her the compliment as they walk.

She never gets chance to reply. A certain thirteen-year-old pops up in their path.

"Better late than never." Madi teases, and Bellamy thinks she sounds tired.

"What can I say? Sometimes adults are stupid. We learnt that when we first landed from the Ark." Bellamy offers, carefully light.

Madi nods. "I'm feeling a sudden need to spend the night sleeping over at Monty and Harper's." She says, with a cheeky smile.

Clarke frowns. "Madi -"

"Please." Madi bites out. "Please, Clarke. For once in your life will you stop being a martyr and try being _happy_. I'll come home tomorrow morning and we can eat our breakfast and have all the awkward conversations about how this is going to work and how Bellamy won't act like my dad unless I want him to. But for tonight please will the two of you just go and have _fun_."

"Your mother's crap at having fun." Bellamy teases lightly. He's not sure whether it's the right moment, but he's always had a habit of joking when things get serious.

It is the right moment, it turns out. Clarke turns to him with a smile even if Madi still looks a little too thoughtful for his liking.

"You'd better teach me, then." Clarke offers.

He considers that. Was that an innuendo? He's not sure. Should he -

"I'm leaving you to it." Madi informs them. "Take care of each other."

"I'll do my best." He promises. It feels important to say that, when he's failed these two young women before now.

"Shouldn't I be the one worrying about you?" Clarke asks softly, reaching out to hug Madi.

"Not tonight." Madi answers briskly. She pulls away from the hug, then walks back to the party.

Clarke watches her go. Bellamy watches Clarke. He knows it's good that he has Madi's implicit blessing – Madi is the most important person in Clarke's life, these days. But it seems like Clarke thinks it is more complicated than that.

"She'll be OK." He says softly. He hopes it doesn't sound like an empty platitude.

"I know she will." Clarke sighs. "All these months I've been telling myself that she was the reason I hadn't fixed things with you. But I guess maybe it's time to admit it's more because I was hurt."

"I know." He reaches out to recapture her hand, squeezes it tight. "I get that. Let's go back to your place and talk about everything."

She nods. She leads the way to her home. She opens the front door, and the first thing Bellamy notices is that the art supplies he gave her are already spread out over the small living room. There's a painting in progress on the table.

It's a painting of his face.

"Already getting some use out of your gift?" He asks, mouth dry.

"Yeah." She swallows loudly. "I was going to give it to you. I hadn't got you anything and I wanted to give you something in return – even if I was still hurting over what you said about it just being a gesture of friendship. But then I started painting your face, and that didn't seem very _friendly_."

He laughs. He reaches for her other hand. He tugs her gently towards him, swallows a sticky swallow.

And then he kisses her.

It's a good kiss, slow and tender and filled with longing. He was almost worried, after all this fuss, that they'd start rushing when the arrived behind closed doors. That the pent up tension and frustration would give way to frenzied passion. But this is not like that – it's what he needed, instead. It's calm and comforting and it feels like home.

He just hopes it suits Clarke, too.

"This OK?" He asks her, pulling back from the kiss.

"Perfect." She agrees. "Love how you're being so gentle with me."

"It's because I want to take care of you." He mutters. He draws far enough away to look her right in the eyes. "Maybe another time we can go for something a bit more... fiery and I can show you how much I want you. But today I just want to show you that you did the right thing by forgiving me." He swallows. "That you can still _trust_ me."

"I trust you." She says right away, not missing a beat.

He nods. He looks round the living room. There's a couch right there. He should probably steer them towards it so they can have that chat.

"You want to sit and talk for a bit?" He offers.

"Hell no." She says, right away, with a slight giggle. "You do not get to make a big romantic scene in the middle of the dancefloor and then kiss me like _that_ and then tell me we're going to spend the evening _sitting and talking_."

He grins. "So – bedroom?"

She nods.

"Lead the way."

She takes his hand once more, leads him to her room. It's exactly as he would have expected – small and practical, with a single bed. Well, then. She's either going to want to replace that or they're going to get very good at close spooning.

"I take it you've not had a lot of guests over recently?" He asks, light.

She takes his question more seriously than he expected. "No. I still felt like I was yours." She mutters.

He leaps at her. There's simply no other word for the way he throws his arms around her neck, starts kissing her deeply, hungrily. He loves hearing her say that, however twisted it may be.

He forces himself to slow down a little. She liked it gentle just now, he remembers. He kisses her softly, cradles her head in one hand.

"Sorry." He whispers against her lips. "Just – that was hot. I still wanted you to be mine. Wish I'd said something sooner."

"I wish I'd said something before you went to space." She says ruefully.

He smiles slightly, gets back to kissing her. He understands why she didn't say anything before Praimfaya. There was never the right moment, with her mourning Lexa and trying to save the human race, with him worrying about his sister. And besides which, he's not sure anything needed to be said. What lay between them was so obvious – if unspoken – that words were hardly necessary. He certainly wasn't surprised when she told him to stay silent, that day by the shore.

He pushes that thought aside. It's time for happy thoughts, now. And it's time to take things a little further, to start exploring under Clarke's jacket with his hands, touching her gently over her shirt.

She matches him – and then some. She tugs his jacket from round his shoulders, starts pulling his shirt up from his waist. He takes the hint, gets her shirt off in turn.

He takes a moment, when she's standing there shirtless before him. He simply steps back and admires her for a second. He's spent a long time dreaming of this, and he wants to make the most of it.

"We should have started with shoes and socks." Clarke says, breaking the silence.

He laughs. Typical Clarke – ever the practical one. And then before he has had time to do anything more than smile affectionately at her, she's crouching to unlace her own boots. He follows her lead, gets his shoes out of the way. His socks follow, tossed somewhere into a corner of her room. He wonders whether he'll be able to find those in the morning. Wouldn't it be a crying shame if he couldn't locate his socks and had no choice but to stay here forever?

They shift back to undressing each other, then, trousers falling away and underwear following close behind. Bellamy is trying very hard to keep his concentration in the right place – to gaze adoringly at Clarke's face, to read her reaction to his kisses and caresses. He's trying very hard not to simply stare at her breasts like some shallow teenager.

He's not entirely succeeding.

She's stunning. She's beautiful and sexy and he cannot believe he got this lucky. He feels even more lucky for all the trouble it took them to get this far, all the more happy because he was so desperately sad about Clarke only a few hours ago.

Clarke tugs him towards the bed. He follows, still kissing her, barely breaking away from her lips as she lies back on the mattress. He simply bends over her and keeps kissing, until at last he decides to pull away and head towards the foot of the bed. He plans to go down on her – he thinks a treat like that is the least she deserves for taking him back, really.

"Where are you going?" She asks, frowning.

"I was going to go down on you."

"Could you stay here instead? I want to hold you. Maybe we can try that another time." She suggests.

He feels his jaw tighten. He's not sure how to proceed, here. "I want to. Really. Think of it as a treat to say thanks for forgiving me and giving us a try."

She snorts. "You don't need to thank me for that – unless you want me to thank you too. We've both screwed up, Bellamy. We've both got things to forgive. I don't want you to feel obligated to act different in the bedroom because of what we've been through."

"Maybe I want to do it anyway." He bites out.

"Then that's fine. You can do it another time. But I _really_ want my arms around you today." She says, her voice beginning to shake just a little.

That's when he gets it. This is important to her. She's not just asking him not to inconvenience himself – she really does need to hold him tight. He can understand that, after everything that has gone wrong between them before now.

He gets onto the bed, her body completely covering hers. He feels her arms shoot around his waist, her hands start stroking his back and shoulders. He kisses her, hot and wet, starts grinding his hardened cock against her. Maybe that's not subtle, but he's beginning to feel a little desperate, here.

"You ready to go?" She asks him, to the point as always.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." She agrees firmly.

He doesn't make her ask twice. He slips inside of her, finds her wet and ready. He wonders what that means – has she been thinking about this as long as he has? Is that why she's so easily turned on, now? Or does he honestly have the same stunning effect on her as she does on him?

He starts moving, building up a rhythm. He's delighted to find that Clarke is as vocal in bed as she is at the negotiating table – but in a rather more sensual way. She's making the hottest little groaning noises, even giving a whine when he hits just the right spot. She's still holding him tight, too, but pressing her palms firmly into his skin rather than clawing at him with fingers. It's almost _reassuring_ , somehow, to be so securely but gently held.

He's not going to last long. There has been too much build up – years of it. But he's determined to show Clarke a good time, first. He'll be devastated if, after everything, she decides he's not that great in bed. He kisses her eagerly, spares a hand to toy with her breast despite the awkward angle. That seems to be a hit. She pulls away from the kiss to press her face into his collarbone, keening loudly.

"I've got you." He promises, panting. "Love you. Tell me what you need?"

She squeezes his arm by way of response. His left arm, while his left hand is the one on her breast. Huh. Maybe that's them learning how to communicate once again. He tests his theory, squeezes her breast a little harder, flicks his fingers over her nipple.

"Yeah." She groans, presses a kiss to the skin of his neck. "So good. Love you. I'm _yours_ , Bel – bellmy."

He gasps. That's his _name_. That's careful, controlled Clarke totally losing it and mangling his _name_. This is real, and it's happening, him and Clarke, and she loves him, and -

And it's too much. He's there, falling apart, spilling inside of her. He's collapsing onto her chest with a sigh as she clenches around him in turn.

She's still holding him tight as they both come down from their orgasms. She's running her hands over his shoulder blades as if trying to map them in her memory, he thinks.

"You OK?" He asks softly.

"Perfect. You?"

"Best sex of my life." He says, without having to think twice about it. "Not bad for a first time, huh?"

She laughs lightly. "Yeah. Me too. Six years of pining and a bittersweet Valentine's Day will do that, I guess."

He grins. She's right. Nothing they did there was particularly exciting in itself. But the atmosphere was perfect, the relief of getting together after all that tension.

He loves her so much it's almost frightening.

No. He doesn't need to be scared of it any more. His love can't hurt him, now. They're together, and fixing things, and it's all going to be OK.

With that thought, he rolls off her and pulls her in for a hug. Or rather – he tries to. She makes it difficult, clinging to him as he goes. They end up tangled together, but on their sides.

"You want to cuddle and talk about everything now?" He suggests.

"I want to cuddle and fall asleep together now." She counters. "My daughter ordered us to _have fun_. Not to cry over difficult conversations. I know we need to talk through some things to heal but – but can we not do that now?" She asks, in a voice so vulnerable he almost does not recognise it as hers.

"Sure. We can do it tomorrow or the next day. We have the rest of our lives to have difficult conversations." He swallows. "Today's Valentine's Day, right? It's a celebration of love. So let's just concentrate on the love part and have a hug."

"Exactly." Clarke agrees, pressing a kiss to his chest. "You good to sleep like this? Or do you want me to turn around? There's not a lot of space here." She offers, apologetic.

He laughs. "We might have to get a bigger bed." He offers.

"We've dealt with worse problems than that before now." Clarke says lightly.

"You're right. Roll over and let me get the blankets." He suggests.

She does. She rolls onto her other side, while Bellamy scrambles at the foot of the bed for the blankets he does not entirely remember kicking aside earlier. Whatever. His mind was very much on other things, he seems to remember. He gets back into bed, spoons Clarke closely and pulls the covers up around them both.

He loves holding her like this, her back to his front, her curves soft and warm against him. He can already feel his arousal starting to grow again, actually, but he sets that thought aside.

"Wake me up when you're ready for round two." He teases, half serious.

She laughs. "So _that's_ how it's going to be?"

Yes. That _is_ how it's going to be, he suspects. Tender, passionate lovemaking. Silly, affectionate jokes. Holding each other close and helping each other to hold onto hope, too.

It's going to be exactly how they always used to be, only six years better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
